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r-NRLF 


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ND  \  A  COMEDY 
ONE  ACT 


STAGE  GUILD  PLAYS 
RYLAND  '  A  COMEDY 


RYLAND '  A  COMEDY 

THOMAS  WOOD  STEVENS 

&  KENNETH  SAWYER 

GOODMAN 


THE  STAGE  GUILD 
CHICAGO 


Copyright,    1912,  by   Thomas  Wood   Stevens 

and  Kenneth  Sawyer  Goodman. 

All  rights  reserved. 


NOTICE.  Application  for  permission  to  per 
form  this  play  may  be  made  to  The  Stage  Guild, 
1527  Railway  Exchange  Building,  Chicago;  no 
performance  of  it  can  take  place  without  consent 
of  the  owners  of  the  acting  rights. 


RYLAND 

A  Comedy  in  One  Act 


CHARACTERS  : 

William  Wynne  Ryland,  Engraver, 

The  Gaoler. 

Henry  Fielding,  Ry land's  pupil. 

Mary,  Ryland' 8  wife. 

Mr,  Haddrill,  a  printseller. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

Angelica  Kauffman. 


NOTE.  The  first  performance  of  the  Stage 
Guild  production  of  this  play  is  to  be  given  in 
February,  1912,  for  the  Chicago  Society  of 
Etchers. 


385041 


"  The  most  remarkable  of  these  cases  .  .  .  is  that  of  Ryland 
the  engraver,  who  in  1783  forged  a  bill  for  ^7, 114  on  the 
East  India  House,  .  .  .  described  as  the  most  extraordinary  piece 
of  deceptive  art  ever  produced.  .  .  .  Ryland  was  convicted, 
chiefly  through  the  evidence  of  a  paper  manufacturer,  and  sen 
tenced  to^death;  but  a  respite  was  granted  that  he  might  finish, 
for  the^  benefit  of  his  family,  a  fine  engraving  he  had  just  begun — 
the  last  of  a  series  from  the  pictures  of  Angelica  Kauffman." 

— Side  Lights  on  the  Georgian  Period,  by  George  Paston* 


RYLAND 

A   Comedy  in  One  Act 


SCENE:  Ryland' s  cell  in  Newgate.  R,  window,  with  an  en 
graving  screen;  a  table  and  stool  ;  engraving  tools,  etc., 
on  the  wall  a  composition  by  Angelica  Kauffman.  L,  a 
bench  and  a  barred  door,  leading  to  the  corridor.  R. 
C.,  a  small  table  with  breakfast  tray. 

[Ryland  and  the  Gaoler  discovered^ 

THE  GAOLER.  Your  breakfast,  Mr.  Ryland.  Your  last  break 
fast,  God  help  us  all  !  Many's  the  good  man  I've  seen  go  out 
of  here  to  Tyburn,  housebreakers  and  murderers  and  thieves, 
but  never  a  great  artist,  Mr.  Ryland — never  till  you. 

RYLAND.      So  I'm  to  be  hanged  to-morrow  morning,  eh  r 
GAOLER.      Yes,  sir.      To-morrow  at  six. 

RYLAND.  Well  .  .  .  No  more  of  this,  [Indicating  the 
engraving\  and  good-bye  to  that,  eh?  [With  a  gesture  at  the 
composition. ,] 

GAOLER,  \_gloomilf\ .      To-morrow  at  six,  sir. 

RYLAND.  Buck  up,  man.  It's  I,  not  you.  You  will  breakfast 
to-morrow. 

GAOLER.  It  has  been  very  pleasant,  having  you  here,  sir.  And 
profitable,  too. 

RYLAND.      I  dare  say. 

GAOLER.  Yes,  Mr.  Ryland,  I've  had  a  tidy  bit  from  the  gen 
tlemen  who  have  come  in  to  see  you.  Some  bacon,  sir — I  can 
recommend  it — none  of  the  prison  fare,  that.  And  you've  been 
most  comfortable  to  deal  with.  No  howling,  no  shaking  the 
bars,  no  cursing  at  night. 

7 


RYLAND.      No,  none  of  that,  I  hope. 

GAOLER.  It's  because  you've  been  busy  with  the  plate,  there. 
The  picture-making  has  been  a  blessing  to  you.  Then,  you've 
never  given  up  hope — 

RYLAND.      I  find  myself  hungry.      That's  strange. 

GAOLER.  Not  at  all,  sir.  Many  of  them  are  so.  [Pause. ] 
Mr.  Ryland,  might  I  make  so  bold  as  to  say,  it  would  be  a 
great  service  to  me,  if  you  would  get  another  reprieve;  work  a 
week  longer  on  the  plate.  It  can't  be  anything  to  you,  sir,  so 
near  the  end,  or  I  wouldn't  be  asking  it. 

RYLAND.      It  would  be  a  service  to  you,  would  it  ? 
GAOLER.      You  could  work  at  your  engraving — 
RYLAND.      I've  overworked  it  now. 

GAOLER.      Oh,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  sir. 
[A  knock  out  side. ~\ 
[Enter  Fielding  outside  the  grating.'} 

FIELDING.      May  I  speak  with  Mr.  Ryland?. 

GAOLER.  I  don't  know;  it's  against  the  rules.  [Fielding  gives 
him  money.'}  Who  shall  I  say,  sir? 

FIELDING.      Mr.  Fielding.      You've  seen  me  often  enough. 

GAOLER.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Fielding,  but  I  likes  to  observe  the 
formalities.  It'll  be  five  shillings,  sir. 

FIELDING.      Yesterday  it  was  only  two. 

GAOLER.  He'll  be  leaving  me  soon — I've  got  to  make  the  best 
of  him  while  he  lasts,  God  help  him.  [He  takes  the  money, 
unlocks  the  grating,  and  calls  to  Ryland, .] 

GAOLER.  Mr.  Fielding's  compliments  to  Mr.  Ryland.  [Exit 
Gaoler.} 

RYLAND.      My  dear  Henry,  this  is  kind  of  you. 

FIELDING.  Oh,  Mr.  Ryland,  I  came  directly  I  could  get  word 
of  Lord  Wy combe's  decision  on  your  appeal — 

RYLAND.      Oh,  the  pardon? 
FIELDING.      Yes  sir — 

8 


RYLAND.  You'll  forgive  me  if  I  finish  my  breakfast.  I  can't 
offer  you  a  chair — 

FIELDING.      Oh,  Mr.  Ryland! 
RYLAND.      Well — well? 

FIELDING.  I  went  to  Lord  Wycombe's  Secretary  as  soon  as  he 
was  out  of  his  bed.  .  .  .  Oh,  Mr,  Ryland! 

RYLAND.  Out  with  it!  Am  I  pardoned,  or  only  reprieved  for 
another  week? 

FIELDING.      Neither. 
RYLAND.      Come,  come — 

FIELDING.  Neither,  sir.  Lord  Wycombe  denies  both  your 
appeals. 

RYLAND.      I've  lost  my  appetite.    .    .    . 

FIELDING  [leaning  over  him;  Ryland  looking  over  bis  breakfast.] 
He  said  you  had  been  three  times  reprieved,  that  you  might 
finish  this  plate;  that  his  lordship  had  been  more  than  merciful, 
considering  the  nature  of  your  crime — 

KYLAND.  I  beg  you  not  to  mention  it,  Henry.  I  had  com 
mitted  no  crime. 

FIELDING.  Never  before,  he  said,  had  the  statute  in  so  grave 
a  matter  as  forgery  been  stayed,  and  in  your  case  only  that  your 
wife  might  not  be  left  unprovided  for. 

RYLAND.      I  understand  his  lordship's  mercy.    .    .   . 

FIELDING.  And  now,  he  says,  if  the  plate  is  still  unfinished,  it 
must  be  carried  on  by  another  hand. 

RYLAND.      That  will  not  be  necessary. 

FIELDING.  He  said  that  your  wife — Oh,  Mr.  Ryland!  .  .  . 
where  else  sha'l  I  go?  That  other  appeal  is  there? 

RYLAND.  [Gets  up  and  puts  his  band  on  Fielding's  shoulder.] 
My  poor  boy!  You  have  been  more  than  faithful.  I  can't  be 
altogether  worthless,  to  have  you  stick  to  me  like  this.  Tell 
me — you  will  take  care  of  her?  You  will  be  as  devoted  to  her 
as  you  have  been  to  me? 

FIELDING.      My  life,  Mr.  Ryland,  shall  be  spent  in  her  service. 

9 


RYLAND.  I  dare  say.  [Moving  up  stage.~\  Well,  after  all, 
there's  a  satisfaction  in  knowing  the  next  day's  work.  It  might 
have  ended  three  week's  ago.  .  .  .  The  ride  in  the  cart  will 
be  pleasant.  The  air,  man!  I've  not  had  a  full  breath  since — 
since  the  minions  of  the  law  broke  in  upon  my  seclusion,  .  .  . 
But  for  these  reprieves,  I  should  have  had  it  over  and  done  with, 
and  you  and  my  wife  would  be  already  half  comforted  .  .  . 
shall  I  say?  It's  a  miserable  business,  this  shrinking  back  from 
the  verge. 

FIELDING.  Oh,  sir,  you  must  see  that  we  are  on  the  verge — 
RYLAND.  I  am  on  the  verge,  Fielding. 

FIELDING.  For  God's  sake,  sir,  drop  this  pretense.  It's  one 
thing  to  jest  at  death  when  you're  safe  at  home.  It's  another 
when  you're —  .  .  .  Until  to-day  I  never  dreamed  that  you 
,  .  .  that  you  could  not  escape.  We  must  make  some  last 
effort. 

RYLAND.  So  you  actually  expect  to  see  me  kicking  my  heels  at 
the  end  of  a  rope? 

FIELDING.  Oh,  sir,  you  must  see  it  too.  You  must  think.  You 
must  give  me  orders.  If  you  sit  and  jest,  I  am  helpless.  It  will 
all  be  over  — 

RYLAND.  My  dear  boy,  what  is  there  you  can  do?  You  tell 
me  to  drop  the  pretense.  .  .  .  What  have  I  left?  I  admit  I 
never  thought  it  would  come  to  this.  I  still  believed  in  my 
destiny.  It's  an  ignominious  end,  it  seems,  .  .  ,  and  I  must 
meet  it  with  what  grace  I  may.  In  faith,  it  matters  little  :  a 
wasted  life  gone  out:  a  slender  ghost  of  a  talent  strangled.  .  .  . 
[Moves  over  to  the  table  where  the  plate  is.']  I'm  not  sorry 
I've  had  this  respite,  Fielding.  I've  made  a  good  plate  here, 
and  in  this  have  paid  a  last  courtesy  to  Mistress  Angelica.  I 
hope  she  will  like  it  ...  if  she  ever  comes  back  to  see  it. 
She's  a  dem'd  fine  woman,  Angelica  Kauffman,  and  this  is  as 
good  a  thing  as  ever  she  painted.  I  hope  she  likes  it.  ... 

FIELDING.  Could  Mistress  Kauffman  do  nothing  to  save  you, 
sir? 

RYLAND.  She's  a  white  moon,  lad!  She  rides  high  on  the 
winds  of  fame  these  days.  It  takes  a  long  time  for  a  cry  of  pain 
to  mount  that  far,  Fielding.  .  .  . 

10 


FIELDING.      But  have  you  tried?      Have  you  written? 

RYLAND.  I  can  be  proud  on  occasion  .  .  .  even  with  a  rope 
around  my  neck.  Once  she  wasn't  so  far,  so  cold.  .  .  .  But 
that's  another  matter,  a  matter  that's  closed.  Tomorrow  .  .  . 
tush,  I'm  content.  I'm  tired.  I'm  ready  to  step  off. 

FIELDING.      But,  sir,  she  might — 

RYLAND.  No.      I  had  it  from  Sir  Joshua  at  the  trial.      She's  in 

Italy. 

FIELDING.  She's  here  in  London!  I  saw  her  only  this  morning. 

RYLAND.  Say  that  again! 

FIELDING.  She's  here  in  London. 

RYLAND.  You  fool!  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  You  stand 
there  and  blither  about  Lord  Wy combe's  secretary,  when  An 
gelica  Kauffman's  in  London.  ...  In  London!  Why  didn't 
I  know  it?  I  did  know  it.  I  felt  it  through  these  stifling  walls. 
I  was  a  dolt  ...  I  thought  it  was  only  Spring  in  the  air, 
April  in  my  blood.  It  was  hope,  it  was  life.  A  moment  ago 
you  had  me  seeing  myself  on  Tyburn  Hill!  And  all  the  time 
I  knew  it  could  never  come  to  that. 

FIELDING.      What  am  I  to  do? 

RYLAND.  Bring  her  here.  Hunt  her  from  one  end  of  the  town 
to  the  other.  Bring  her  here,  lad;  I  must  talk  to  her.  She  can 
twist  the  Queen  around  her  little  finger.  Through  the  Queen 
she  can  get  me  a  royal  pardon. 

FIELDING.      The  time  is  short. 
RYLAND.      Time  enough  if  she  still  cares! 
[The  Gaoler  knocks  at  the  door.'] 
GAOLER.      A  lady  to  see  you,  sir. 

FIELDING.         Ah! 
RYLAND.         Who  is  she? 

GAOLER.      Your  wife,  sir. 

RYLAND.  Show  her  in.  [Fielding  goes  to  the  door  and  pays 
the  Gaoler;  Mary  Ryland  comes  in,  and  runs  across  to  Ryland.] 

1 1 


MARY   RYLAND.         William .     .     . 

RYLAND.      Good  morning,  my  dear. 

MARY  RYLAND.      Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me? 

RYLAND.      Why  shouldn't  I  be  glad  to  see  you? 

MARY  RYLAND.     You  look  disappointed.    You  haven't  kissed  me. 

RYLAND.  I  beg  your  pardon!  [He  kisses  her  band,  and  turns  to 
Fielding.^  Well,  why  don't  you  go? 

FIELDING.      Where  shall  I  look  for  her? 

RYLAND.  Her  house  is  in  Golden  Street.  If  you  fail  there,  go 
to  Sir  Joshua.  Spend  what  you  need,  but  lose  no  time. 

MARY  RYLAND.      Has  something  happened?     Where  is  he  to  go? 

RYLAND.  He  is  to  bring  Angelica  Kauffman  here.  He  has  my 
orders. 

MARY  RYLAND.  No,  I  say.  I'll  not  have  her  here.  I'll  not 
have  you  see  her.  I'll  not  allow — 

RYLAND.      Pardon  me,  my  dear.      He  shall  bring  her. 

MARY  RYLAND.  \_lVe  eping.~\  And  I've  come  day  after  day, 
and  you've  treated  me  like  a  stranger  .  .  .  and  now  you're 
sending  for  her. 

FIELDING  [Taking  a  step  toward  her.~\  It's  all  as  it  should  be, 
Mistress  Ryland. 

MARY  RYLAND.   You  tell  me  that,  Henry.   Do  you  know?   .    .   . 
FIELDING.      I  know  there  is  need  for  her. 
MARY  RYLAND.      Then  do  as  you  think  right. 

FIELDING.  It's  not  that,  Mistress  Ryland.  It's  necessary,  now 
that  Lord  Wycombe —  . 

RYLAND.  Sst  !  Go.  [Fielding  goes  <?///.]  My  dear,  I'm  not 
flattered  by  your  jealousy,  I  assure  you.  There  is  no  need  for 
you  to  question  me — and  Mistress  Kauffman  is  a  great  artist.  I 
must  have  her  see  this  plate — to-day.  That  should  be  enough. 

MARY  RYLAND.  But,  William,  you  knew  her  before  you  ever 
saw  me,  and  it  hurts  me  to  think —  . 

I  2 


RYLAND.      There,  there,  my  dear, 

\The  Gaoler  knocks  at  the  door.~\ 
GAOLER.      Mr.  Haddrill,  on  important  business  with  Mr.  Ryland. 

RYLAND.  Ask  Mr.  Haddrill  to  sit  down  outside.  You  can 
squeeze  an  extra  shilling  out  of  him  for  a  chair. 

MARY  RYLAND,  But  William,  you  can't  keep  Mr.  Haddrill 
waiting. 

RYLAND.      To-day  it  is  my  privilege  to  keep  anybody  waiting. 
MARY  RYLAND.      But  Mr.  Haddrill' s  your  publisher. 

RYLAND.  He's  a  tradesman  to  whom  I'm  doing  a  favor.  A 
favor  by  which  you  are  to  profit,  not  I. 

MARY  RYLAND.      Don't  make  it  harder  for  me. 

RYLAND.      Mary,  I  want  a  few  moments  alone  with  you. 

MARY  RYLAND.  I  thought  you'd  rather  be  rid  of  me  .  .  ,  that 
you'd  rather — 

RYLAND.  My  poor  child.  You  seem  to  forget  that  my  last 
plate,  the  thing  I've  let  them  stretch  out  my  life,  week  by  week, 
to  finish — for  your  benefit;  the  only  profitable  thing  I  can  leave 
you,  in  this  world,  is  a  copper  mirror  fashioned  to  reflect  the 
genius  of  Angelica  Kauffman. 

MARY  RYLAND.  It' s  for  her  pleasure,  her  fame,  you've  been 
working,  not  for  me.  You've  sent  Fielding  to  fetch  her.  .  .  . 

RYLAND.  The  plate' s  finished.  It  must  have  her  approval  be 
fore  ...  I  go. 

MARY  RYLAND.  Don't!  Don't  speak  of  the  end.  ...  I 
can't  bear  it.  I'm  your  wife. 

RYLAND.  Poor  child.  Poor  little  creature.  I  think  you  pity 
yourself  more  than  you  pity  me. 

MARY  RYLAND.      How  can  you?      How  can  you? 

RYLAND.  Why  all  this  snivelling  about  so  simple  a  thing  as 
death?  A  little  jaunt  from  here  to  somewhere  else  ...  a 
step  off  into  the  empty  air.  My  dear,  it's  I  that  take  the  step, 
not  you. 

MARY  RYLAND.      Ohl   Oh,  how  can  you  go  on  about  it  this  way? 

'3 


RYLAND.  Because  I  want  to  see  you  smile  again.  Because 
you're  young.  Because  I've  wasted  a  year  of  your  life,  and 
Pm  sorry  for  it.  ...  Because  I  want  you  to  undertand  that 
if  it  happens  I've  come  to  the  end  of  my  lane,  you  are  only 
turning  into  yours,  .  .  .  and  the  hedgerows  are  white  with 
hawthorn  bloom.  You'll  see  the  green  trees  in  the  Mall,  the 
red  sun  over  the  chimney  pots,  the  silver  river  when  you  walk 
on  the  embankment  at  night. 

MARY  RYLAND.      But  the  loneliness,  the  separation! 

RYLAND.  [Losing patience  a  little.]  Tush!  Such  separations 
are  only  terrible  when  two  people  love  each  other. 

MARY   RYLAND.        But   I  loVC   yOU. 

RYLAND.  No,  I  dazzled  you.  .  .  .  And  now  I  want  to 
make  it  easy  for  you. 

HADDRILL.  \_Heard  outside.~\  I  won't  wait  any  longer,  Ryland. 
This  business  is  urgent.  [He  comes  in,  stops  on  seeing  Mistress 
Ryland,  and  bows  to  her  rather  curtly.~\  Your  servant,  madam, 

RYLAND.      To  what  am  I  indebted,  Mr.  Haddrill? 
HADDRILL.      In  Mistress  Ryland' s  presence —  .    .    . 

MARY  RYLAND.  I  pray  you  not  to  consider  my  feelings,  Mr. 
Haddrill. 

HADRILL.  Egad,  madam,  it's  for  you  to  say.  [Turns  to  Ry- 
land.~\  Here  you've  put  me  in  a  fix!  They  say  you've  no 
more  reprieve,  no  chance  of  pardon.  That  you  hang  at  sun 
rise  to-morrow.  You  should  have  considered  my  interest.  You 
should  have  given  me  more  time. 

MARY  RYLAND.      No  reprieve  ...      no  pardon ! 

HADDRILL.  [Paying  no  attention  to  ber.~\  Is  the  plate  done, 
signed,  ready  to  print?  Don't  you  see  I've  only  the  day  for 
the  edition,  and  the  advertisement  and  all,  or  I'll  miss  the  big 
sale  at  the  stalls  along  the  Tyburn  road? 

RYLAND.  Ah,  that  would  be  a  pity.  It's  ready,  you  see. 
[Holds  up  plate.  ] 

HADDRILL.  Ready!  .  .  .  But  the  ink  won't  be  dry  before  they 
have  the  halter  on  you.  And  I'd  planned  to  make  it  a  great  day  in 

H 


the  trade, — a  great  day,  sir,  for  the  art  of  England.  It's  a  wonder 
ful  opportunity  for  a  pushing  man — the  last  plate  and  the  artist 
hanged  to-day.  ...  I  had  made  some  very  striking  prep 
arations,  Ryland. 

RYLAND.      Hadn't  you  forgotten  something,  Mr.  Haddrill? 

HADDRILL.  Not  a  thing.  .  .  .  But  you  give  me  so  little 
time.  I  plan  to  sell  the  prints  at  my  shop,  in  Saint  Paul's 
Churchyard,  at  Temple  Bar,  at  stalls  along  the  way  to  Tyburn; 
and  I  have  six  most  lugubrious  looking  fellows — picked  them  out 
for  their  woebegone  faces — all  with  crepe  on  their  hats,  sir,  to 
sell  them  at  Tyburn.  Then  I've  got  out  broadsides,  sir  ;  and 
I've  had  a  ballad  written  to  sell  at  the  hanging — all  about  you 
and  your  crime,  and  the  prints  for  sale  at  my  shop.  Here 
it  is,  sir — like  to  look  at  it?  ^He  bands  Ryland  a  ballad^ 
And  now  there's  so  little  chance  to  get  'em  out.  .  I  take  it  very 
hard,  Ryland. 

RYLAND.      This  is  miserable  stuff. 

HADDRILL.  I'd  have  you  know,  sir,  the  same  author  wrote  one 
last  month  for  the  celebrated  highwayman,  Jack  Sparrow.  It 
took  the  town  by  storm. 

RYLAND.  My  name  will  go  down  in  illustrious  company.  .  ,  . 
HADDRILL.  Perhaps  a  little  revision,  with  your  help? 

RYLAND.  No,  let  it  serve  as  it  is.  I've  a  bargain  to  strike  with 
you,  Haddrill. 

HADDRILL.  I  thought  you'd  struck  a  pretty  stiff  bargain  already, 
Ryland.  I'm  to  pay  your  wife  five  shillings  to  the  pound  more 
than  I'd  give  any  living  engraver.  I've  even  advanced  you  ten 
pounds.  I  call  it  sharp  practice — 

RYLAND.  These  are  my  final  conditions,  Mr.  Haddrill.  You 
ofrer  five  shillings.  That  won't  do.  You  must  double  it. 

HADDRILL.         Double   it! 

RYLAND.  All  proofs  must  be  numbered  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Fielding. 

HADDRILL.     You  mean  you  don't  trust  me,  Ryland? 

RYLAND.      Remember,   I   shan't     be     here.      I  trust     Fielding. 


You've  advanced  ten  pounds.  Before  the  plate  leaves  my  hands 
she  must  have  fifty. 

HADDRILL.      Egad,  you're  driving  it  altogether  too  hard. 

RYLAND.  No,  Haddrill,  but  I  understand  my  position.  I'm 
a  public  figure  to-day.  London  will  stand  tiptoe  all  night  to  see 
me  hanged  in  the  morning.  Another  condition.  I  must  see 
the  contract  you  sign  with  my  relict  widow,  Mary  Ryland 
here.  I  must  see  you  sign  it  in  the  presence  of  Fielding  and 
Sir  Joshua.  They'll  hold  you  to  it. 

HADDRILL.  Look  you,  Mr.  Ryland,  I  agree  to  the  double  roy 
alty.  But  this  goes  too  far,  too  dem'd  far!  I'm  a  man  of 
my  word,  sir.  I'll  not  be  treated  like  a  shuffling  huckster,  like 
a  cheating  fishmonger,  like  a  dem'd  criminal.  I'm  a  communi 
cant  of  the  Church  of  England,  sir!  I  won't  be  bound  hand 
and  foot. 

RYLAND.      I  thought  not. 

HADDRILL.  Deuce  take  you,  sir!  Blast  your  eyes,  sir!  What 
do  you  mean  by  that,  sir? 

RYLAND.  Only  this.  You  promise  quickly  enough,  but  I  mean 
to  see  that  you  perform. 

HADDRILL.  \_Takingup  his  hat.~\  Very  well,  sir.  Very  well, 
I'm  sorry  you're  so  headstrong. 

RYLAND.  You  know  how  many  printsellers  there  are  in  Lon 
don.  .  .  .  All  waiting  for  this  chance. 

HADDRILL.      You  won't  abate  your  conditions? 
RYLAND.      Not  a  penny. 

HADDRILL.  I'm  sorry  I  can't  take  you.  .  .  .  And  I  had 
it  all  planned. 

RYLAND.      You  had  it  planned!      A  clumsy,  niggardly  plan  you 

had.      I  know  what  the  town    will   think.      I  know    how    the 

town  will  buy.      Six  hang  dog  hucksters  with  crepe  on  their 

hats!     That's  like  you,  Haddrill  ;  no  taste  whatever.      Twelve 

young  gentlemen,   dressed  in   the    height    of  fashion — veritable 

macaronis, — that's  what  you  should  have,  and  them  selling  the 

prints  like  mad,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  charity  to  a  pretty  widow. 

Flowers!      My  cart  to  be  loaded  with  violets  when 

16 


it  stops  at  St.  Sepulchre's.  It's  an  occasion,  sir,  when  the 
King's  Engraver  rides  to  Tyburn!  At  Holborn  Bar  you  will 
have  them  fetch  me  a  flagon  of  old  port — 

HADDRILL.      But  think  of  the  expente,  man,  the  expense! 

RYLAND.  Will  you  stick  at  a  few  pounds  at  a  time  like  this? 
I  wouldn't  deal  in  sixpences  on  a  great  day  for  the  art  of  Eng 
land. 

HADDRILL.  You  dealt  in  thousands,  and  see  where  it  brought 
you.  Think  of  me. 

RYLAND.  Why  should  I  think  of  you!  I'm  the  one  to  be 
hanged,  Haddrill,  not  you.  Broadsides,  and  a  ballad!  I  can 
make  a  speech  from  the  scaffold  that'll  ring  through  the  town  un 
til  this  plate's  worn  thin  as  paper.  Where  will  your  ballad  and 
your  broadsides  be  then? 

HADDRILL.      You'll  make  a  speech? 

RYLAND.  Aye,  that  I  will.  But  it  depends  on  you,  Haddrill, 
what  sort  of  speech. 

HADDRILL.      You're  a  genius,  Ryland, 

RYLAND.  The  speech  will  cost  you  twenty  pounds  extra  to 
Mistress  Ryland — mentioned  in  the  contract. 

HADDRILL.  [Writing.]  Mentioned  in  the  contract,  Violets 
at  Saint  Sepulchre's  ;  a  flagon  of  port  at  Holborn  Bar  ;  twenty 
pounds  extra  for  a  speech  on  the  scaffold  ;  twelve  young  gentle 
men — no  crepe  on  their  hats.  You're  a  genius,  Ryland — but 
you  bargain  like  a  Jew. 

RYLAND.      I  must  protect  Mistress  Ryland' s  interests. 

MARY   RYLAND.         Oh,  oh  ! 

HADDRILL.      You'll  give  me  the  plate  immediately? 
RYLAND.      When  you  bring  me  the  contract. 

HADDRILL.  I  give  you  my  oath  I'll  treat  your  wife  handsomely. 
I  had  something  else  in  mind.  ...  A  very  pretty  idea, 
and  quite  genteel,  too  ;  quite  up  to  your  tone.  If  Mistress  Ry- 
Itnd  would  sit  in  my  shop  for  a  week  after  the  hanging  and  sell 
the  prints  herself — 


MARY  RYLAND.     Oh!  the  shame  of  it. 

RYLAND.      How  much  will  you  pay  her? 

MARY  RYLAND.     William,  William,  how  can  you?     .      , 

RYLAND.      Hush,  my  dear.      Mr.    Haddrill  will  think  you  are 

over-sensitive.      This  is  a  matter  of  business. 

HADDRILL.  It  would  have  a  great  effect.  You  might  mention 
it  in  your  speech. 

MARY  RYLAND.  This  is  monstrous.  .  .  .  This  is  terrible, 
I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  won't  listen,  I — 

RYLAND.  You  see,  Haddrill,  there  is  still  some  delicacy  of 
feeling  left  in  England, 

HADDRILL.      I  thought  it  most  genteel,  most  suitable.      Very — 
well,  touching.      But  it's  for  Mistress  Ryland  to  say. 
RYLAND.      She  appears  to  object. 

HADDRILL.  At  least  she'll  be  at  Tyburn  .  .  .  dressed  in  black, 
when  the  young  gentlemen  sell  the  prints.  She'll  be  where  the 
crowd  can  see  her?  It  would  help  amazingly. 

RYLAND.  Surely,  my  dear,  you  can't  refuse  him  that  much. 
It's  only  what  any  dutiful  wife  would  be  expected  to  do,  under 
the  circumstances,  .  ,  .  You'll  have  everyone's  sympathy. 

HADDRILL,  Very  fitting,  very  proper,  I'm  sure.  Have  you  a 
black  dress,  Mistress  Ryland? 

MARY  RYLAND,  William,  this  is  a  nightmare.  .  .  .  Tell 
me  I'm  not  awake,  William. 

RYLAND.  There,  there  child!  Go  with  Mr.  Haddrill.  He'll 
take  you  to  a  draper's.  Be  sure  you  get  a  becoming  frock — 
he  has  no  taste. 

MARY  RYLAND.        No,   no  ! 

HADDRILL.  Come,  madam.  I'll  bring  you  back  when  I  fetch 
the  contract. 

RYLAND,  Yes,  child,  go.  I'm  expecting  other  visitors.  .  .  . 
Go  on  with  your  preparations,  Mr.  Haddrill. 

[Haddrul  and  Mistress  Ryland  start  to  go  out;  as  they 
turn  away,  Ryland  laughs  atoud,  and  Haddrill  face  s 
about.] 

18 


RYLAND,     But  what  if  I  shouldn't  be  hanged? 

HADDRILL.      Good  Lord ! 

RYLAND.      Do  you  think  there's  a  reasonable  doubt? 

HADDRILL.  [ Thinking  it  over  and  smiling  grimly.]  No,  Ry- 
land,  I  don't.  .  .  .  But  I  confess  you  gave  me  a  turn. 

RYLAND,     Au  revoir,  Mr.  Haddrill. 

[Haddrill  again  turns  toward  the  door,  finds  it  barred, 
the  Gaoler  with  his  hand  on  the  lock.  Haddrill  steps 
toward  the  door,  but  the  Gaoler  makes  no  move  to  open 

a.-] 

HADDRILL.     Den  of  thieves. 

[He  pays  the  Gaoler  and  goes  out.  Ryland  hums  a  line 
of  song,  and  moves  about  the  table,  putting  his  proofs  and 
materials  in  order.  Fielding's  voice  is  heard  outside  the 
door.  ] 

FIELDING.  Mr.  Ryland,  Mr.  Ryland.  I've  seen  her.  .  .  . 
RYLAND.  She's  coming? 

FIELDING,        Yes. 

RYLAND.  Alone? 

FIELDING.      No.    .    .   .    She's  bringing  Sir  Joshua. 

RYLAND.  The  devil! 

GAOLER.  I  don't  call  this  fair  to  me,  Mr.    Ryland. 

RYLAND.  My  dear  man,  you've  spoken  yourself  of  the  gener 
ous  treatment  you've  had  from  me  and  my  friends.  Let  this 
pass,  don't  be  grasping.  .  .  .  Besides,  there's  a  lady  coming 
— and  a  gentleman.  They'll  pay  handsomely.  In  fact,  it 
would  be  worth  your  while  to  bring  in  another  chair. 

GAOLER.  I've  no  wish  to  be  hard  with  you,  Mr.  Ryland,  but 
there  are  rules. 

RYLAND.      1 4 know.      You  make  them  yourself. 

FIELDING.      [Outside. ~\      Am  I  to  come  in,  Mr.  Ryland? 

RYLAND.  \_Putting  on  bis  coat<~\  No.  You've  done  your  share. 
Wait  and  see  that  this  .  .  .  butler  welcomes  them  properly. 


[  The  Gaoler  brings  in  the  chair,  and  goes  out.  Ryland 
moves  the  chair  so  that  Angelica  and  Sir  Joshua  must 
sit  far  apart,  and  hums  the  song  again.  The  door  opens] 

GAOLER.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  Mistress  Angelica  Kauffman. 
[The  Gaoler  goes  out,  smiling  broadly,  as  the  visitors 
have  been  generous.] 

SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS.      I  trust  you'll  pardon  my  intrusion,  Mr, 

Ryland.      But  ladies    of   fashion  .    .    .   gentleman's  apartment 

.     .     .     you  understand.      Even  in  so  irreproachable  place  as 

Newgate. 

ANGELICA  KAUFFMAN.     [Crossing  Sir  Joshua.]      It  grieves  me 

deeply,  Mr.  Ryland —  .    .   . 

RYLAND.      [70    Angelica.]       Couldn't    you   have    trusted   me 

enough  to  come  alone? 

SIR  JOSHUA.      [Adjusting  bis  ear  trumpet.]      Eh,  what's  that? 

ANGELICA.     Mr.  Ryland  spoke  of  his  sense  of  the  honour  you  do 

him  in  coming,  Sir  Joshua. 

SIR  JOSHUA,      Ah,  did  he  say  that?     Well,   well,   where' s  the 

plate?  We  came  to  see  the  plate  you've  engraved  from  Mis 
tress  Kauffman's  picture, 

[Ryland  holds  up  the  plate,  bows  Sir  Joshua  to  the  chair, 
extreme  right,  and  goes  over  to  Angelica,  handing  her 
the  plate] 

RYLAND.      [To  Angelica]     It  was  more,  much  more  than  the 

plate.   ,   .    , 

SIR  JOSHUA.      Eh,  what's  that?     A  little  more  distinctly  sir. 

RYLAND.  [To  Angelica.]  Confound  your  dragon.  [To  Sir 
Joshua.]  I  wish  to  consult  Mistress  Kauffm an  about  the  draw 
ing  of  the  arm. 

SIR  JOSHUA.      Eh?   Oh.    .    .    ,   Ah,    the  drawing.      I    shouldn't 
examine  it.      Better  let  it  pass. 
ANGELICA.      Oh,  lud,  sir,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  take  you. 

SIR  JOSHUA.  Always  said,  dear  lady,  your  art  ...  transcends 
mere  drawing. 

ANGELICA.  Ah,  the  kind  lies  he  tosses  to  the  vanity  of  his  friends. 
Dear  Sir  Joshua. 


20 


SIR  JOSHUA.      Well,  sir,  have  you  nothing  to  show?      No  triil 

proofs?      Let  me  see  the  work,   sir,   and  I'll  tosB  you  no  kind 

lies.      I've  an  engagement. 

RYLAND.      Give  it  to  him,  madam,  and  for  God's  sake  grant  me 

a  moment's  speech  with  you  apart. 

SIR  JOSHUA.      If  you  desire  my  criticism,  Mr.  Ryland,  you  must 

speak  more  distinctly. 

ANGELICA,      [Hands  a  proof  to  Sir  Joshua.~\      Do  me  the  honor, 

sir. 

ANGELICA.      [Referring  to  the  plate.  ~\      This  is  all  my  intention 

in  the  cartoon,    Mr.    Ryland.      You  have  a  wonderful  gift    of 

patience. 

RYLAND.      Not  patience,    Mistress,    but    an    exquisite    pleasure. 

...  to  follow  your  fancy,  your  sentiment.   .    .    . 

SIR  JOSHUA.  It  docs  you  credit,  sir — and  the  lady  as  well.  Ad 
mirable,  .  .  .  Though  I  see  nothing  in  it  to  stay  the  course  of 
justice. 

RYLAND.  ^With  lofty  resignation.^  So  you  believe  it  to  be 
justice,  sir? 

SIR  JOSHUA.  My  belief  has  no  weight,  Ryland.  .  .  .  But  now 
that  this  is  done,  and  the  legal  pother  over  with,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  it? 

RYLAND.  If  it  has  Mistress  KauiFman's  approval,  what  do  I  care 
— what  they  do  with  it? 

SIR  JOSHUA.  You  take  it  too  lightly.  The  plate  must  be  worth 
money,  and  your  obligations  to  your — 

RYLAND.  ^Glancing  toward  Angelica.^  Spare  me  that,  Sir 
Joshua,  I  beg  you.  What  is  money,  to  a  man  who  lodges  here 
for  the  last  night? 

SIR  JOSHUA.  Rubbish !  Your  affairs  should  be  left  in  order.  .  .  . 
That  is  the  least  you  can  do  for — 

RYLAND.  Do  you  not  understand,  sir,  that  this  pains  me  deeply. 
Money  has  been  the  shadow,  the  strain  of  discord,  the  flaw  in 
the  metal.  .  .  .  Money  has  been  my  ruin  .  .  .  and  you  ask 
me  to  spend  my  last  hours  haggling — 

SIR  JOSHUA.  Calm  yourself,  sir.  Haddrill,  I  suppose,  brings 
it  out.  I'll  look  to  this  for  you. 

21 


RYLAND,     That  is  more  than  I  have  a  right  to  ask  of  you,  Sir 

Joshua. 

SIR  JOSHUA.      Tush,  tush.     I'm  not  speaking  of  your  rights,  but 

in  the  interest  of  your — 

RYLAND.      Haddrill  will  attend  to  everything.      He's  bringing 

me  a  contract.      He's  a  very  generous  fellow,  Haddrill.     I  shall 

sign  it,  Sir  Joshua,  without  reading. 

SIR  JOSHUA.     Not  without  my  reading.    .   .    .    Must  take  care  of 

you,  even  if  you  choose  to  hang  yourself. 

ANGELICA.      [Protesting  at  the  word.~\     Oh,  Sir  Joshua. 

RYLAND.      I  thank  you  for  that,  Mistress. 

GAOLER.      [^/  the  door.~\      Mr.   Haddrill  is  back.      Says  he's 

forgotten  something.      Shall  I  admit  him,   Mr.  Ryland? 

SIR  JOSHUA.      Very  fortunate,    .    .   .    Show  him  in.      I'll  arrange 

this  matter  now  .    .   .   take  care  of  all  the  quibbles  before  they 

come  up. 

RYLAND.      Sir  Joshua,  I  beg  you  not  to  afflict  me.      I  have  only 

a  few  hours  .    .   .  and  this  is  torture.      If  you  are  inflexible  in 

your  kindness  toward  me,  go  to  Haddrill  and  do  what  you  can 

in  my  behalf.      It's  more  than  I  ought  to  ask  ...   and  I  hope 

you  will  not  find  I  have  been  too  heedless. 

SIR  JOSHUA.      It  should  be  done  in  your  presence,  but  you're  so 

dem'd  improvident. 

RYLAND.      I  am  not  so  improvident  as  to  be  ungrateful,  sir.    [He 

bows  Sir  Joshua  out  and  turns  to  face  Angelica."]     You  at  least 

have  a  sympathy  for  me,  Mistress ;  you  who  understand  so  well 

the  delicacy  of  my  feelings  in  an  hour  like  this. 

ANGELICA.      I  hardly  know.      This  is  all  so  shocking,  so  terrible. 

I  am  .   .    . 

RYLAND.      Dear  lady,   I  have  been  a  brute  to  drag  you  here, 

you,  who  live  in  the  glow  and  the  music  ...   to  see  a  man  in 

this  hopeless  gloomy  cell,  a  poor  devil  who  is  about  to  die — 

ANGELICA.      Please  don't.   ...   I  shall  faint. 

RYLAND.      I  beg  you  not  to  faint,      I  will  speak  of  other  days, 

and  you  shall  listen — out  of  charity.     It  doesn't  so  much  matter 

to  me  now  ;   I've  done  with  it  all.      But  it  was  hard  to  face  the 

end  without  seeing  you  again.      Now  I  can  go,   ...   I'm   not 

unready. 

22 


ANGELICA.      What  difference  can  seeing  me  make? 

RYLAND.      What  difference?   ...   I  ride  to  Tyburn  with  a  vision 

of  you  in  my  eyes,  the  sound  of  your  voice  in  my  ears,  the  touch 

of  your  pity  on  my  defeated  heart.  .    ,   .  What  difference?   .  .  . 

If  you  had  not  come,  I  should  have  gone  out  of  here  with  the 

gallows  swinging  before  me,  and  my  misspent  years  blowing  in 

my  face. 

ANGELICA.     This  is  very  sentimental,  Ryland.     I  hardly  imagined 

that  you  .    .   .  that  I — 

RYLAND.     That  it  meant  so  much  to  me,  when  you  last  refused 

me? 

ANGELICA,     There,  there,  Ryland.    You  knew  it  was  impossible. 
RYLAND.      I  know.    .    .   .   You  thought  you  loved — 
ANGELICA.      I  beg  you  not  to  speak  of  him.    He  was  unworthy, 
and  he  is  gone  .   .    .   out  of  my  life. 

RYLAND.  [Suddenly  hilarious  C\  And  out  of  England!  Egad, 
why  shouldn't  I  speak  of  him.  The  town  talked  on  nothing 
else  :  The  distinguished  Count  de  Horn  shows  an  interest  in 
the  incomparable  Mistress  Kauffman;  he  is  accepted;  he  isn't; 
he  is.  ...  They  are  married;  they  are  not;  they  are.  .  .  , 
He  is  an  impostor;  he  is  a  prince  in  disguise;  he  is  the  son  of 
his  father's  cook!  and  then  .  .  .  pouf!  He's  gone. 

ANGELICA.      You  can  not  imagine,  sir,  this  is  pleasant  to  me. 
RYLAND.   Nor  was  it  pleasant  to  me.   The  Count  de  Horn  .  .  . 
the    son    of  his  father's  cook  .    ,    .    and  a  bigamist!      Mistress 
Kauffman  will  prosecute;  she  will  not;  she  will.    .   .    .   He  was 
a  criminal.      He  had  imposed  upon  your  faith,  your  heart,  your 
honour.      You  could  have  let  him  hang.   .    .    .    But  instead  of 
that  you  gave  him  his  freedom  and  five  hundred  pounds. 
ANGELICA.      Three  hundred. 
RYLAND.     Generous  soul ! 

ANGELICA.  I  will  not  remain  here,  sir,  to  be  taunted  with  my 
past  misfortunes. 

RYLAND.      Nothing  was  further  from  my  intention. 
ANGELICA.      Then  why  do  you  recall  this? 

RYLAND.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  It's  my  whim  to  mar 
vel,  just  for  the  moment,  at  the  charity  which  gives  a  scoundrel, 


who  had  wronged  you,  his  freedom  and  three  hundred  pounds, 
while  you  see  a  man  who  has  devoted  his  life  to  the  spreading 
of  your  fame,  a  man  who  has  loved  you,  and  who  still  loves  you, 
go  to  the  gallows  without  the  compliment  of  a  tear. 
ANGELICA.      This  is  most  unjust.     You  have  given  me  neither 
time  nor  proper  occasionTor  weeping,  Ryland. 
RYLAND.      \_Coming  close  to  ber.~\     And    it  does  not  occur  to 
you;  now  that  you  see  me  again?  .   .   . 

ANGELICA,  [She  backs  toward  the  doorJ^  Nothing  occurs  to 
me;  I'm  all  upset  by  your  impudence. 

RYLAND.  Unkind,  unkind !  When  this  is  my  last  living  day, 
and  you  could,  if  you  chose  ,  .  . 

ANGELICA.     If  you  come  a  step  nearer,  I  shall  call  Sir  Joshua. 
RYLAND.      [Stops  and  looks  at  bert  his  eyes  filed  with  admira 
tion.^      The  winter  in  Italy   has   agreed  with   you.   .    .   .  I've 
never  seen  you  look  so  ...  dangerous,  Angelica. 
ANGELICA.      You  mustn't  call  me  that.    .   .    .   My  name — 
RYLAND.     That  was  what  I  called  you  when  we  danced  together 
at  Tunbridge,  the  night  you  laughed  with  me  over  Fuseli's  pro 
posal;  Angelica  I  called  you  when  we  sat  together  on  Richmond 
Hill,  and  watched  the  moon  trace  out  the  Thames  with  silver 
fingers;  Angelica  I  called  you  that  divine  day  in  Windsor  Forest, 
— the  day  I  first  told  you  I  loved  you; — Angelica — 
ANGELICA,     You  play  upon  the  word,  Ryland,  as  though  it  were 
*  refrain. 

RYLAND,  The  refrain  of  a  living  love,  dearest  .  .  .  in  the  song 
of  a  dead  life. 

ANGELICA.      Is  it  a  dead  life,  William?  .   .   . 
RYLAND.      It  dies  at  sunrise  .    .    .   and  all  for  a  few  pounds  un 
wisely  borrowed,  a  few  creditors  inhumanly  clamorous,  and  the 
lies  of  a  paper-maker  who  hated  me. 
ANGELICA.     What  is  it  they  accuse  you  of? 
RYLAND.      Forgery. 
ANGELICA.     And  you  are  not  guilty. 

RYLAND.  Guilty?  ...  I  have  borrowed  unwisely,  I  tell  you. 
I  was  hungry  for  the  sight  of  ...  Italy.  Is  that  guilt?  There 
was  a  matter  of  a  note — an  India  company  note.  Thirty  men  had 


signed  it,  and  not  one  of  them  at  the  trial  could  say  the  hand  was 
not  his  own.  [She  makes  a  gesture  of  inquiry, ,]  This  paper- 
maker  ...  he  swore  he  had  made  the  paper  on  which  it  was 
written  a  year  after  the  date  of  the  note.  Guilty?  .  .  .  That 
would  have  been  criminally  stupid,  and  of  stupidity  no  one  has 
ever  accused  me.  .  .  .  For  all  that,  the  court  passed  sentence. 
ANGELICA.  And  is  there  no  appeal? 

RYLAND.      What  need  of  appeal,  if  it  no  longer  touches  you? 
ANGELICA.      But  if  it  does  touch  me? 

RYLAND.  We  have  tried  what  we  could.  ...  I  have  been 
three  times  reprieved,  to  finish  this  plate.  It  is  done.  His 
Majesty  is  inexorable.  But  with  you  in  England,  with  the  lure 
of  you — 

ANGELICA.      Don't  tell  me  you  would  not  make  the  effort  except 
as  I  inspired  it. 
RYLAND.      Why? 

ANGELICA.      I  could  not  believe  you. 

RYLAND.     The  truth,  then:  you  can  reach  the  Queen.   Through 
her,  King  George.     Till  you  came,   I  had  no  voice  to  reach 
him.      You  can  have  what  you  ask.      Let  it  be  ...   my  life. 
ANGELICA.     You  want  me  to  go  the  Queen? 
RYLAND.      Yes! 

ANGELICA.     This  would  compromise  me  more  deeply  than  you 

can  imagine. 

RYLAND.      [Sardonically.  ]      You  have  act  imagined  how  high  it 

will  hang  me  ...   if  you  refuse. 

ANGELICA.     And  if  I  fail? 

RYLAND.  I  shall  not  murmur.  .  .  .  But  I  do  not  believe  you 
can  fail. 

ANGELICA.  William.  William.  .  .  .  No,  don't  come  near  me. 
I  will  go.  This  must  be  secret — 

RYLAND.      You  can  trust  me. 

ANGELICA.  And  there  must  be  no  more  talk  of  love  ...  no 
notes,  messages,  flowers,  tokens.  You  are  to  be  merely  a  man 
— an  artist — in  whose  work  I  take  a  great  intereit  ...  an 
innocent  man  whom  I  endeavor  to  deliver  from  an  unjust  death — 


RYLAND.  Stop.  I  agree  to  the  secrecy,  but  I  do  not  pledge 
myself  not  to  love  you. 

ANGELICA.        YOU  mUSt. 

RYLAND.  I  will  not  take  life  on  these  terms.  Secrecy — dii- 
cretion — yes.  .  .  .  You  can  not  require  that  I  forget  you. 

ANGELICA.  It  cuts  me  .  .  .  you  have  been  faithful  to  a  mem 
ory  so  long.  Perhaps,  when  this  is  over,  I  may  permit  you  to 
remember  again. 

RYLAND.  [Seizing  her  hand  and  kissing  //.]  Better  to  blot  out 
my  life  than  the  memoriei  of  Richmond  Hill  ! 

ANGELICA.  You  must  keep  them  deep  hidden,  William.  .  ,  . 
These  are  perilous  things,  these  memories. 

RYLAND.  They  have  been  my  stay,  my  comfort,  since  these 
ungentle  days  came  upon  me.  A  faith  like  mine,  Angelica,  a 
love  that  endures  unshaken  ...  it  must  be  something,  even  to 
you.  Tell  me  you  go  to  the  Queen  because  you  too  remem 
ber— 

ANGELICA.     It  is  enough  that  I  go. 

RYLAND.     No.   .   .    .   That  you  go  out  of  love  for  me. 

ANGELICA.  You  must  content  yourself,  William.  ...  For  you 
I  go  to  the  Queen. 

[She  starts  toward  the  bars  when  the  Gaoler  opens  them 
quietly  and  Mary  Ryland  comet  in.  Mistress  Ryland 
pauses,  glances  at  Angelica,  and  goes  over  to  Ryland,  who 
waves  her  away  and  sinks  back  against  the  table.  Mary 
comes  down,  L.,  hesitates  a  moment,  then  comes  down 
above  Angelica,  L.  C.,  and  falls  on  her  knees,  clasping 
Angelica's  hand.~] 

MARY  RYLAND.      Oh  madam,  madam! 

ANGELICA.      What's  this?  ...   Let  go  my  hand,  girl. 

RYLAND.      What  brings  you  back?  .    .   . 

MARY  RYLAND,  Mr.  Haddrill  says  .  .  .  Oh,  Madam,  you 
could  do  something,  you  could  help  us — 

ANGELICA.     Help  us?     Who  are  you,  child? 

26 


MARY  RYLAND.  I'm  the  unhappiest  woman  .  .  .  I've  been  a 
jealous  fool  .  .  .  But  I  know  he's  too  proud,  too  honourable. 
He  would  die  rather  than  be  too  heavily  beholden  to  you,  But 
I  have  no  pride:  I  can  beg  you  to  plead  for  him;  I  can  beseech 
you  on  my  knees.  If  you  are  not  moved  to  do  your  utmost  for 
him,  at  least  you  must  look  with  pity  on  me  .  .  . 

ANGELICA.      Is  this  lady  your  wife,  Mr.  Ryland? 
RYLAND.      Yes. 

ANGELICA.  \_Witb  menaceJ\  I  regret  that  you  omitted  to 
mention  her. 

[Mary  Ryland  moves  away  from  her,  and  Ryland  sinks 
back  in  dispair.] 

SIR  JOSHUA.  [Heard outside. ~\  Well,  I  must  say,  Haddrill,  he's 
driven  a  sharp  bargain  with  you. 

HADDRILL.      Sharp  bargain!       Dem'd  close  to  robbery,  I  call  it. 

[Enter    Sir    Joshua  and  Haddrilly    Fielding  following 
them.~\ 

ANGELICA.  [To  Sir  Joshua.]  So  you've  not  found  him  so 
simple? 

SIR  JOSHUA.  Simple !  He  has  bound  this  poor  fellow  to  support 
his  wife  for  the  rest  of  her  days. 

HADDRILL.  I'm  a  man  of  my  word,  Ryland.  If  you're  satis 
fied,  I'll  trouble  you  for  the  plate.  [Ryland  hands  over  the 
plate,  bowing.~\  I  shall  live  up  to  my  part  of  the  contract. 

RYLAND.      You  may  rest  assured  as  to  my  part  of  it. 

SIR  JOSHUA.  I'm  sorry,  Ryland.  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  wished 
to  think  well  of  you.  But  this  contract  ,  .  .  a  man  capable  of 
such  a  document,  sir — I  spare  you  my  opinion,  in  your  wife's 
presence, 

ANGELICA.  [Joining  Haddrill  and  Sir  Joshua.~\  Your  pre 
sumption,  sir;  your  lack  of  candour —  ,  .  . 

RYLAND.  My  best  friends  ...  it  grieves  me  exceedingly  that 
the  confidence  of  one's  best  friends  should  be  turned  aside  by  a 
man's  natural  efforts  to  save  his  neck  and  to  provide  for  his  family. 

27 


MARY  RYLAND.      [To  Angelica.']      Madam,  is  there  nothing  you 
can  do? 

ANGELICA.      Nothing  I  care  to  do. 

FIELDING.      Oh,  Mr.  Ryland,  if  you  would  only — 

RYLAND.      Let  me  alone.      You  won't  grieve  long.      You'll  get 
your  reward. 

MARY  RYLAND.      Oh,  William,  William! 

RYLAND.      Tush,  child,  go  with  Fielding.     He'll  take  care   of 

you.     You've  done  enough  ...   for  me. 

ANGELICA.      For  shame,  Ryland !     [She   gathers    Mary   Ryland 

under  her  arm.']      When  you  need  to  see  her,   Mr.   Haddrill, 

come  to  me. 

HADDRILL.      [From  the  door,  where  be  and  Sir  Joshua  are  about 

to  go  out.~]     Your  servant,  madam. 

SIR  JOSHUA.      Come,  Mistress  Angelica.      Remember,   Ryland, 

I  wished  to  think  well  of  you. 

RYLAND.      I  have  not  long  to  remember.     Sir,  your  very  humble 

servant. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Joshua,  Haddrill 'and Fielding.  Angelica  stops 
at  the  door  and  turns  back,  Mary  Ryland  with  her.~] 

ANGELICA.      She  goes  under  my  protection,  Ryland. 

[Mistress  Ryland  leaves  Angelica  for  a  moment,  and  goes 
slowly  over  to  Rylaud  who  kisses  her  forehead  and  leads 
her  back  to  Angelica.] 

RYLAND.      I  am  filled  with  gratitude,  Mistress.      Mary,  you  will 

find  it  most  pleasant  I  am  sure,   ...   A  gay  household,   Mary 

— you'll  like  that. 

ANGELICA.      Not  so  gay  as  it  has  been,   Ryland.      You  see,   I 

have  my  husband  to  consider. 

[Ryland  draws  himself  up,  swift ly.~] 

RYLAND.      Your  husband?  .    .   .  I'm  sorry  you  omitted  to  men 
tion  him.      My  compliments,   madam.      [Exeunt  Angelica  and 

Mistress  Ryland.      Ryland  speaks  to  the  Gaoler,  who  is  about  to 

close  the  doorj]     It  won't  be  necessary  to  admit  any  more  visitors. 

GAOLER.     No,  sir.      But  there's  the  chaplain  to  see  you,  sir. 

RYLAND.      What's  that? 

18 


GAOLER.  The  chaplain  of  the  prison,  Mr.  Ryland,  to  see  you. 
RYLAND.  [Rising  and  fumbling  with  his  cravat. ~\  The  chap 
lain.  .  .  .  Oh,  God,  yes!  ...  Yes,  yes,  yes!  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  see  the  chaplain. 

[Curtam.] 


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